


Yes, Forever

by MaurianasRavenholdt



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Infatuation, Stalking, Unreliable Narrator, diary format, psychotic narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27251644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaurianasRavenholdt/pseuds/MaurianasRavenholdt
Summary: "There’s something aboutstaringat someone - someone who doesn’t even know you exist - that is thrilling... He’s too good to be true. I love him. And he loves me.He just doesn’t know it yet."The diary of an infatuated psychopath newly obsessed with Dick Grayson.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/OC
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	Yes, Forever

**Sept. 29**

Dear Diary,

There’s something about _staring_ at someone - someone who doesn’t even know you exist - that is thrilling. Makes my heart race, my cheeks flush, just _looking_ at him from across the cafe. He’s not doing anything special. It’s coffee, black, two sugars for him, before he shoves money in the tip jar (always at least a ten, even for a $2 tab) and leaves. 

And for about a week, that’s been enough for me. I just sit the table in the corner with my sketch pad, drinking the same bitter, too-sweet drip and trying to capture every moment. The arresting smile as he invariably flirts with the barista. His sapphire blue eyes, a color I didn’t even know could be natural, that light up when they call his order, “Small Coffee for Dick”. The curves and lines of his body, an artful mix of sensuous and strong, obvious even through denim and cotton. 

He’s too good to be true. I love him. And he loves me. 

He just doesn’t know it yet. 

But today was the day. The day I promised myself I would work up the nerve to leave the cafe with him, behind him. I had to know where someone like him slept at night, ate his meals, showered...

I had imagined that such a beautiful man would have an equally beautiful home. Maybe a modern penthouse with a stern doorman and a 24/7 valet. 

So I thought it must be a mistake when he walked up to an old, pre-war row home, fire escape lined with drying laundry, in a part of town far away from glittering high-rises and fancy black town cars. My heart sank when he disappeared inside. I couldn’t see him. Which floor was he on? 

It seemed like an eternity, but then I saw him again. Third floor. He was there, framed in the window as he opened it to let in some of the late fall breeze. 

I was so _relieved_. I thought I’d worked up the nerve for nothing. Now I know. But you know me, dear diary, that wasn’t enough. I waited almost an hour until someone came out of the front door, and then slipped in behind them. 

My fingers brushed along the mailboxes in the atrium and then I found it. 

Dick Grayson  
1013 Parkthorne Avenue  
Apartment 3A  
Blüdhaven, NY. 

He’d written the tag himself in blue pen. I couldn’t just leave it there, so I tugged it off and put it in my pocket. His handwriting is angled and broad, and it somehow seems to suit him. Exudes the confidence of someone like him. 

My heart was pounding the whole way home. I still can’t believe it! I was _in_ his apartment building. I touched his mailbox, metal that _he_ touches every day. 

And now I know what name I’ll have, when we’re married. 

Mrs. Leila Joan Grayson 

Has a nice ring, don’t you think?

\-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

**Sept. 30**

Dear Diary,

I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. He had been at the Cafe every morning like clockwork for over a week. But this morning...

I waited. 

And waited. 

Until the breakfast rush waned and I was one of the only people left. Dick didn’t come. 

He was _avoiding_ me. It was the only explanation. 

So I packed away my things and calmly walked to his apartment, making sure to stand across the street this time, to get a better view. Windows shut. Curtains drawn. 

The lazybones was still asleep! I can’t tell you how relieved I was, dear diary. Here I thought he might’ve been _cheating_ on me! Crazy, right? 

But my day gets _better_. He must’ve sensed me out there, worried about him, because I was only there for a couple of hours before he came down the stairs and opened the door. Somehow he looks even more stunning every single time I see him. I noticed his hair the most this morning. It looks soft, and probably a little longer than he likes it, because he’s always tucking it behind his ear or combing his fingers through it. But he doesn’t cut it. He keeps it that way, just for me. 

Today, his arms were full - carrying a big white basket of laundry. I don’t know why I was surprised, but it seemed odd that a man _so_ perfect would wash his own clothes. At a laundromat. 

When we’re married he won’t have to worry about that. I’ll take care of him. 

The laundromat wasn’t far, just a block down, so I walked there, too. 

He’s so friendly! Waving at the people, sharing soap, giving an old lady quarters because her clothes weren’t _quite_ dry yet. I couldn’t keep myself away. And then I did something... _bad_. 

His back was turned (he separates his whites, and was washing them through first) so I reached into his basket and pulled out a blue undershirt. And I took it home with me. My heart was beating so fast I was worried the whole block would hear it! 

But I am _so_ glad I did it. And it’s not really _that_ bad, right? I’ll give it back once we move in together. 

It smells like him. Like clean sweat and soap. I slipped it over my pillow so I can smell him all night. It’s almost like he’s in my bed! I can almost feel his strong arms wrapped around me, and he’s _mine_.

It’s practically scandalous!

\-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

**Oct. 1**

Dear Diary, 

Did you know he has a _motorcycle?_

That won’t do at all. 

I decided to walk with him to his apartment every morning now. He only lives a few blocks away, and it’s fascinating to see him outside, with the sun playing against his tan skin, accentuating each curve and cut of his biceps...

Today, when we arrived, he went inside as always, but came back out only a few minutes later, toting a black helmet and wearing a leather jacket. At first I wasn’t sure what was going on. I was distracted by just how incredible he looked in all black. The color matched his hair, setting off the blue in his eyes, but...

The silver and red death-trap parked out front is _his_. And I watched in absolute horror as he straddled that beastly thing and rocketed off. Out of sight. Away from _me_. 

Why would he do that? Put his life at risk when he _knows_ we have such a beautiful future together? Maybe it’s some display of machismo - trying to impress me. Doesn’t he know he doesn’t have to? I already love him with everything I am. 

Whatever his reasons are, I had to keep him safe. So when he came back a few hours later...

I guess I did _another_ naughty thing. True love makes you do that, though. Right? Do anything to protect the person you need? 

Once it was dark I took a knife and I cut open the tires on that terrible bike. But tires are replaceable, you know? And I wanted to make sure he understood he was _never_ allowed near one of those things again. So I sawed into the leather of the seat, did my best to jam my blade into the displays, and scraped the letters “Ducati 1098S” off the side. 

It was a lot of hard work. But I didn’t mind. Anything for him. _Everything_ for him. 

I know when he comes out tomorrow morning and sees my handiwork he will smile. He’ll know he’s loved. 

My mother would’ve been proud of me. She always loathed motorcycles, too - said they only suited gangsters and lowlifes. But my Dick Grayson is neither. And now he has a chance to get something sensible. Maybe a van, for our family? 

I can only hope!

\-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

**Oct. 2**

I don’t understand. He wasn’t happy. Didn’t he know I did it for him, for _us_?

I got up early and waited in the alley near his place - brought my own coffee and breakfast, too. I wanted to see the look on his face when he saw how hard I’d worked. But I heard him before I saw him, yelling, “Oh, fuck me!”

Language, darling. Right? My mother would _not_ approve of that. 

He was standing with those strong arms on his hips, staring at the death trap I destroyed for him. _For Him._ Sighing and huffing. 

And do you know what he did next? He called the _cops_. Like I was some kind of criminal. 

No. No that couldn’t be it. Maybe he needed the police report to make an insurance claim so he could buy something _sensible_ for us. That was it. He was being responsible. Frugal. Didn’t want me to worry about the money it would take. 

He loves me so much. 

He even stayed outside for a few hours, while he talked to the police and waited for a flat bed truck to take _that thing_ away. Just so I could see him in the sunlight. He knows that drives me wild. He knows me so well. 

And then they delivered a rental _car_ for him. I can’t tell you how proud I was, Dear Diary. 

I saved his life. 

Guess he owes me now, huh?


End file.
